This is Your Fault
by lovergirl85
Summary: Part 2. Tim gets sick and he knows that somehow Dick is to blame.


Tim felt awful. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this bad. Maybe when he was much, much younger, but still. Tim didn't get sick. Or at least, not overly sick. At the most, he got a cold. But this was just ridiculous. He was exhibiting all the symptoms of the flu, which was stupid. He'd just gotten his flu shot yesterday! He considered blaming Damian. Damian had the flu. Tim knew this because Dick had called last night and asked him to cover patrols because he needed to take care of a sick ten-year-old devil child.

Okay, so those hadn't been Dick's exact words. They may have been Tim's.

Tim ignored the little niggling voice of reason in the back of his head that pointed out it couldn't be Damian's fault because Tim hadn't had contact with the little monster in over forty-eight hours. It was a blessed forty-eight hours.

He stifled a sneeze, snarling under his breath. He was Red Robin; one of Gotham's feared vigilantes. He took down criminals on a nightly basis. He was a seventeen-year-old genius by day, who, next fall, would be starting college classes. His detective skills were rivaled only by Bruce Wayne's. He was a force to be reckoned with, dammit! He could not be getting sick! _Especially_ not with something he'd just been inoculated against!

Red Robin wasn't able to stifle the next sneeze, which occurred mid-swing, causing him to lose focus and crash into the building next to him. It was an apartment building and he heard a startled yelp from the occupant inside. He shot off the next hook and swung away from the building, changing direction to Wayne Manor. He would be having words with Dick.

Because somehow, this was his fault. Tim just knew it.

"Dick!" Tim yelled as soon as he was in the cave. He yanked off his cowl and threw it down. "DICK!"

"Master Timothy!" A surprised voice said. "I must say I wasn't expecting you to be here. I thought you were on patrol tonight." Tim whirled around to see Alfred patching up the Batman costume. Normally, Tim was glad to see the elderly man, but tonight was not 'normally.'

"Where ib he, Alfred?" Tim demanded, wincing at his voice. "Dis is 'is fault and I'b going to murder 'im." Alfred clucked his tongue reprovingly and set the costume down, standing and walking over to the third Robin, checking him over.

"Really, Master Timothy. You're starting to sound like young Master Damian. How could it possibly be Master Dick's fault that you contracted the flu?"

"I don' know!" Tim shifted, agitated. "But id is, I know id!" He gave a loud sniff and scowled. "And I don' 'ound like dat demon." Alfred turned away, rolling his eyes, heading over to one of the lockers and opened it, pulling out a change of clothes.

"Well, while you try and figure it out, might I suggest that you get change and head upstairs. I believe the room across from Master Damian's is open." It wasn't really a suggestion and Tim took the clothes, considering simply leaving the cave and heading back to his place, but Alfred was using that voice. The one that made it sound like you had a choice, but said that you really didn't.

Plus, at least this way when he got better, Dick would have less time to run.

"'Ow did you know I got da flu?" Tim asked suspiciously as he changed. Alfred gave a dignified snort.

"Master Timothy, I'm going to pretend you didn't just ask that question. I think I've been around long enough to distinguish between the common cold and the flu." Tim didn't doubt that for a second, but he still had the feeling Dick was at fault.

He followed Alfred up the stairs to the manor and to the upstairs corridor where most of the bedrooms were and complacently climbed into bed. Alfred made sure that the covers were secure around him and headed for the door.

"I shall inform Master Dick of your arrival," he told him. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear you'll be staying with us. I'll also bring up some medicine and soup." Tim crossed his arms and scowled. He had no doubt Dick would be thrilled to hear of Tim's arrival. The acrobatic bastard probably planned it. While he waited for Alfred or Dick, whoever showed up first, he began planning the grisly demise of one Richard Grayson.

"Tim!" Speak of the devil and he shall appear… Tim glared at Dick, who bounded into his room carrying a small paper cup and a glass of water. "What're you doing here?" Tim snarled as he accepted the pills and swallowed them, taking a large gulp of water. Dick watched, amused. "You took them a lot better than Damian did. The kid tried to palm them."

"Don' pretend you don' know why I'b 'ere," Tim growled, ignoring the latter part of the statement. The effect was slightly ruined by the fact that he couldn't talk right. "I know you 'ad sobting to do wid dis." He gave another loud sniff.

"Not sure what you're talking about, little bro," Dick said, sounding completely and utterly insincere. "But, hey, you sound awful. It's a good thing you showed up when you did. Now someone will be able to look after you."

"Yes, you do know why I'b 'ere!" Tim refused to be sidetracked. "I know you 'ad sobting to do wid me getting sick!"

"At least we agree on sobting, Drake," a clogged voice said from the doorway. Damian was standing there, glaring at Dick. Tim felt a momentary flash of kinship with him. Maybe he'd even let Damian help him murder Dick.

"Damian, we've talked about this already," Dick chided lightly. "I'm good, but even I can't make people get sick when I want them to." He shrugged. "Bruce, maybe. Alfred, definitely."

"Stop trying to blame id on da the butler," Damian snapped. "We all know id's your fault!"

"Uh-huh," Dick nodded. "Whatever you say, Damian. Go get back in bed." He stood, ruffling Tim's hair as he did so. The teen prodigy shot him a look of death. "You know, at this rate, what with everyone getting sick and all, I may end up having to call the Red Hood to take over for a night!" He grinned at Tim's look of horror. "Kidding. I'll give Babs a call and have her get her birds out." He headed for the door.

"Feel better soon, Timmy!"

"Go die in a hole, Dick."


End file.
